Vader vs Voldemort: Battle of the Ages
by Zinga6377
Summary: Has the Dark Lord finally met his match in the highly asthmatic Sith Lord Vader? Will his poor self -esteem become his downfall? And since when does Vader crochet? Find the answers here in what may possibly, sort of, kind of, may be the most epic match up of all time.
1. Chapter 1

Lord Voldemort, the greatest and the most feared Dark Wizard of all time, stood boldly on a rocky cliff peeking over the dusty and desolate landscape of Tattooine. His fearsome eyes glared at the sand, his fearsome mouth sneered at the suns, and, had his can of hair treatment actually worked, a fearsome mullet would have been fluttering in the wind. As he let the breeze flow through his nonexistent hair, he heard the sharp crunch of footsteps and a deep, heavy breathing creep up the slope behind him. Voldemort stilled. He was either about to face a highly asthmatic bear or-

"Lord Vader," he rasped, turning to face his fearsome opponent, "I heard that monstrosity you call a Death Star looms no more. What happened? Couldn't keep up on the rent? Or was it a termite infestation?"

Vader slowly raised his arm and stretched out his fingers toward the sassy figure, the tips aimed at the Dark Lord's throat. Then he lowered it quickly has he reached into his pocket to take a few puffs of his inhaler before addressing the wizard.

"I'll have you know, my children blew it up. Blasted kids. You abandon them at birth, let your troops kill their relatives, kidnap a few of their friends and they feel they have the right to go and blow up your Death Star. Fools! However, I sense you have not requested this meeting to discuss personal matters. Why did I leave my crochet class to come here?"

The Dark Lord's fearsome stance transformed into an awkward shuffle as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet and muttered, "Iwasderingifyoubeadroboticosesoninouralaxy..."

"What? Do I have narcotics and roses in my bakery?"

"Doyouhaveroboticosesoninouralaxy..."

"Did the Knicks and Moses have leprosy?"

"Doyouhaverobicsnosesinyourgalaxy..."

"Do I have epileptics strike nude poses for pottery?"

"DO YOU HAVE ROBOTIC NOSES IN YOUR GALAXY!?"

Lord Vader froze for a moment before bursting into hearty laughter. "Oh ho, so that's what this is all about! Lord Voldemort, terror of the wizarding world, scourge of all who wield wands, enemy of all that is good, is self-conscious of his deplorable nose! Mwahahahahaha! Wait 'till the gals at the crochet class hear this one!" Voldemort fumed silently as Vader rolled on the ground, banging his fists and feet as he chortled over the Dark Lord's pathetic excuse of a nose. After several minutes of continuous and uncontrolled chuckling, Vader pulled out a newly crocheted handkerchief to wipe the tears from his eyes as he turned to face the indignant Dark Lord.

"I find your lack of self-esteem... amusing. For that reason only, I shall grant you your request. However you must do one small favor for me in return." Voldemort nodded fervently. "Anything! Anything! Perhaps when I finally have my new nose, I shall defeat that brat Potter once and for all! What is your request Lord Vader?"

"I have several new fragrances I was planning on giving to the gals at the crochet class and I need an opinion on them. Would you," he snickered, "... smell them for me?"

Black fury enveloped Voldemort's nose-less features as the sheer audacity of this impudent Sith Lord struck him full force. How dare he refuse his request for a nose, and how dare he openly mock him through that ugly helmet he called a face! He whipped out his wand. This insolent Sith would rue the day he crossed paths with the Dark Lord! "How very funny, Lord Vader," he growled, "I daresay, I have not laughed this much since I heard the joke about the 'hot' young man who so very carelessly lost his arms and legs. How very clumsy of him."

Now Vader, taking a quick puff his inhaler, drew his lightsaber as he and the wizard circled each other. "That," he said, "Was below the belt. Or do you even wear belts with that dress of yours?"

"IT'S A ROBE!" Voldemort screamed. The gloves, or robotic hands, were off. Glaring at each other, the dysfunctional pair prepared to face off in what promised to be the most epic duel of all time. Probably.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to everyone who read or reviewed! I know it's a ridiculous story, but it's fun to write

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters.

Darth Vader twirled his blazing red lightsaber between his gloved fingers. "Give up now Baldy," he intoned his deep voice, "You and your barbaric twig are no match for my awe-inspiring lightsaber, a terrifying and gruesome weapon for a civilized age!" He chuckled darkly. "Seriously where'd you even find that thing?"

"It was an extraordinarily reasonable two-for-one sale at Walmart," mumbled Voldemort to himself. "But enough talk of my wand!" he proclaimed more loudly, "You dare insult my weapon? AND my hair?"

"Actually, I was insulting the lack of it," muttered Vader.

"AS I WAS SAYING. How dare you insult my wand and my head. YOU who must wear that hideous helmet and who wields," he snickered, "a rather _less_ than intimidating saber."

"What do you mean less than-" Vader stopped, blushing beneath his helmet as he took note of the embarrassingly feminine hue his saber had taken. He _knew_ it was an old lightsaber, that he should have tuned it up, ensured that it would stop fading to such a horridly humiliating color, such a nasty shade of-

"_PINK_?" howled Voldemort incredulously, his laughter shaking his thin frame, "Darth Vader, scourge of the galaxy, murderer of the innocent, has terrorized the universe with his 'awe-inspiring' _pink _lightsaber all these years? I'm impressed! I'm sure all the asthmatic kittens and frail old grannies must have run screaming for cover. Did little old Muriel at the crochet class find it just terrifying?"

"Her name," Vader said, with all the dignity he could muster, "is Gladys! And YES she did!"

"Whatever," huffed the Dark Lord. "It is of no matter. Your pathetic lightsaber cannot compete with my glorious wand, and your wrinkly face cannot compete with my flawlessly smooth complexion," he said, rubbing his corpselike fingers over his shining scalp.

"Flawless. _Flawless_? You honestly think your skin is flawless?" Vader pretended to consider the wizard thoughtfully. "Well. If you say so."

Voldemort suddenly became worried. "What? What do you mean 'if I say so?' Of course, it's flawless!" The Dark Lord felt uneasy. He already felt horribly insecure about his missing nose, could he even bear it if his one pride and joy, his smooth skin, was tarnished as well?

"No, no, of course it's flawless. Immaculate. No glaringly obvious imperfections here."

"You don't mean that!"

"Of course I do!"

"Are you sure?"

The Sith Lord looked upon Voldemort as kindly as he could through his black helmet. "Tom. Would I lie to you about such an important and sensitive matter?" he asked with sincerity dripping from his voice.

Voldemort smiled, relief flooding through him. Wait a second…

"OF COURSE YOU WOULD YOU PIECE OF OWL POOP! WHAT IMPERFECTION?!"

Vader smiled triumphantly. "Moledemort say what?"

"WHAT? A MOLE!?"

"Well, you know, I caught a glimpse of it when your dress drifted up a bit higher than it should have."

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" screeched Voldemort as he pointed his wand towards the Sith Lord.

"AAAARGHHH!" roared Vader as he blocked the fatal curse with his an impressive swing of his now fuchsia lightsaber.

The two continued as wild thrusts of a color-shifting lightsaber were parried by a conveniently-priced wand. From a distance, a casual observer may have found the battle sensational, an electrifying brawl of purely epic proportions, if they ignored the frequent appearances of the plastic inhaler or the occasional stumbles of pale feet over a poorly fitted robe. Eventually, the whirls of sand and grit calmed down, revealing the two out-of-shape lords slumped against each other as they panted and wheezed on the dusty ground.

"Well," said Vader, "I have to say that lasted longer than expected."

"Indeed," agreed Voldemort, "I'd say two, maybe three minutes?"

"No, it was definitely a solid four."

"Ah."

"Well, shall we continue?" asked Vader, groaning as he placed his hands on his back to straighten it out.

"Yes we shall!" said Voldemort, dusting off his robes and reaching his for his wand as Vader reached for his lightsaber.

Only to find that neither were there.

"Vader. Where. Is. My. Wand."

The Sith Lord looked confused. Or at least under his helmet he did. "I don't know. What did you do with my lightsaber?!"

"I didn't touch it!" roared Voldemort, panicking as he fell on his hands and knees digging through the sand, Vader bent down beside him doing likewise.

"Well this is just _fabulous_," huffed Vader after a few minutes, "How are we supposed to kill each other without our weapons? And where ARE our weapons?"

"I don't know!" Voldemort frowned. "However… I may have an idea of how to resolve this little dispute."

Vader glanced at the dark wizard skeptically.

"How?"


	3. Chapter 3

Vader glared at the odd assortment of groceries and kitchen utensils that lay before him as he strongly resisted the overwhelming urge to Force-chuck a thick egg at a certain unbearable Dark Wizard.

"This is your stupidest idea yet."

"Oh come on, don't be such a sithy..."

"Two all-powerful Lords attempting to settle the greatest battle of all ages with a bake-off? _A bake-off? _Your moronic nose has already made you the laughingstock of your universe, and now you want to meet your doom while sporting a "Kiss the Cook" apron?"

Voldemort frowned as he smoothed the frills of his apron. "Don't be angry that your fat hips failed to accommodate your own apron, Vader."

"IT'S NOT THE FAT, IT'S THE METAL."

"Whatever. Complain all you like, you fool, but bear in mind that we have already exhausted all other methods of resolving this dispute. After all, somebody just HAD to protest against a perfectly reasonable snowball fight-"

"I come from a desert planet! It wasn't fair!" snapped Vader. "Besides, Mr.-I'll Break-A-Nail, who was it that protested so vehemently against an Extreme Crochet competition?"

"You already knew how! And honestly, you how can one criticize the grandeur of a bake-off while pushing for a crochet competition?"

Vader sniffed. "There is no greater glory than weaving the harmonious result of mighty needles and majestic yarn."

Rolling his eyes, Voldemort again turned his attention back to the wooden kitchen countertop. "Well maybe if someone hadn't vaporized the laser tag center on Alderaan, we wouldn't be in this mess now, would we?"

The Sith Lord slammed his fist on counter. "Oh really? Tell that to the kayaking center you ordered your Death Eaters to destroy!"

Voldemort snorted. "Hardly my fault. The fools deserved it! They got my robes wet!"

Vader stared. "You went kayaking… and didn't expect to get wet?"

"The point is there are no other options! This kitchen is still standing, and neither of us has any experience cooking. It's completely fair." Vader fumed silently. The idiotic wizard had a point. He had always threatened his subordinates with choking should they fail to bring him his favorite foods, and Voldemort had either done the same or whipped up some pancakes with his wand. He sighed. There really was only one choice.

"Fine. One cake each. Must be completed in less than 3 hours. No magic or Force. Most delicious cake wins, and the victorious baker shall rule the galaxy!" He paused. "And the loser shall not be permitted to ridicule the victor's fuchsia weapons or magnificent hobbies."

The Dark Lord considered Vader's rules for a moment before snapping his fingers. "Yes! And in addition to refraining from any ridicule concerning the victor's nose or hair-

"Lack of hair."

"- the loser shall have to assist the victor in defeating the Potter brat!"

"Or in defeating his children," amended Vader.

"Deal?" said Voldemort.

"Deal!" said Vader.

Conditions set, the two enemies set upon their task with vigor. Although the competition was temporarily delayed as Voldemort cleaned the yolk off his head from an inexplicably airborne egg, the next three hours saw nothing but the two lords hard at work on their respective confections. No sounds emanated from the dusty kitchen save for the clattering of bowls and utensils, the sneezing of a Sith Lord, and the Dark Wizard's humming rendition of "Bad."

The moment of truth arrived. Exhausted but brimming glee and anticipation, the opponents set their creations on the table. Silence reigned for a few minutes. Finally Vader spoke.

"Who's going to judge it?"

AN: Thanks to everyone who's read! Please feel free to leave comments! I hope you laughed


	4. Chapter 4

Note: Sorry for taking so long to update! I hope you enjoy the new mess our boys are getting into :D

"Mesa be so happy yousa be asken me to judge yousa baking competition!"

Voldemort glanced sideways at Vader. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that underneath the stoic mask, the Sith Lord's eye was twitching rapidly.

"It's not too late to call in someone else you know."

Vader gritted his teeth. "You know perfectly well that there was no one else we could get this quickly. It was either this or that Umbridge toad, and unless you want sit through a lecture on the benefits of order and pink suits I suggest we suck it up and allow the Gungan to judge. He does not realize who I am and should therefore remain impartial."

"But what kind of idiot would agree to help two Dark Lords judge a baking competition?" asked Voldemort.

Vader just stared at him.

"Anyhow, more importantly, what are his judging qualifications?" Voldemort shielded his cake protectively. "I refuse to allow my beautiful confection to pass the lips of an unsophisticated tongue."

"Oh yousa not have to be worrying about that Masteren Wizard! Mesa tongue supa sophisticated, see?" Jar Jar's tongue sprang out of his mouth, twirling in an attempt to impress the wizard but instead entangled itself in handles of the kitchen cabinets. As the Gungan attempted to extricate his tongue from the devilish handles, Voldemort turned to glare at Vader once again.

"Oh how wonderful, Vader, I'm so delighted that this judge of yours has lived up to the typical standards of your employees. No class, no ambition, and, most shamefully, no palette." He looked down at his cake "Let's just skip this nonsense and announce me the winner and then we can go kill Potter and his companions-"

"NO we are allowing the Gungan to judge and once I am declared the winner we shall go turn my son and kill his ridiculous friends-"

"Potter!" protested Voldemort.

"Son!" said Vader.

"Potter!"

"Son!"

"Potter!"

"Son!"

"POTTER!"

"POTTER!"

"SON AND THAT IS FINAL!" screeched Voldemort.

"Well if you insist," answered Vader calmly.

"You bet your metal butt I insist!" hissed the Dark Wizard before pausing. "No, wait, you know perfectly well that's not what I meant!"

"We all know what you meant, so if we could just be on our way-" started Vader when a bumbling figure suddenly came stumbling toward the Sith Lord's position, having finally managed to free his tongue at the expense of his already limited supply of coordination. Lord Vader could only stare in horror as his dark chocolate cake flew out of his arms, watching as the confection made its slow and devastating descent towards the kitchen tiles. For a moment after the impact, the trio merely stared at the sad slump of bread and frosting that lay spattered on the floor, the filler jelly leaking from the center like a congealing pool of blood. Jar Jar's wide eyes remained fixated on the mutilated cake, while Voldemort's face twisted in strange expression of surprise and glee. Vader looked like he was about to cry.

"Me-Mesa so sorry, mesa didn't mean to hurt yousa cake," stammered Jar Jar before the wizard drowned out his rest of his apology with a howl of laughter.

"It would appear that I have won!" said Voldemort as he threw off his "Kiss the Cook" apron and brandished his cake triumphantly, "Seeing as how _mine _is not licking the floor tiles." He continued his celebratory jig around the kitchen before freezing as an invisible Force-push shoved his cake into his nose-less face.

"Oh dear, is that _fruit_ cake?" Vader rolled his eyes behind his mask. "It looks like I just did the Gungan, and whoever else would have had the supreme misfortune to eat that creation, a tremendous favor." He walked over and patted the fuming wizard's shoulder, careful to avoid the remnants of the cake dripping off of it. "You're quite welcome."

"You-you-"

"And as for you_,"_ continued Vader slowly as he turned toward the trembling Gungan, his tone dropping to a glacial temperature, "I loved that cake. I poured what was left of my heart and soul into _that cake._ And you, YOU took it away from me. You're finished!" He lunged at Jar Jar but a pair of thin but strong arms held him back.

"No, you fool, you're supposed to be fighting me, not him!" said an annoyed Voldemort as Vader flailed his arms in attempt to reach the cowering Gungan. "This is our battle, you nitwit, and if you kill him we will not have anyone to judge our cakes. We just have to make two more."

"There will never be another cake like that!" sobbed Vader "It was special! It understood me!"

"You Drama Lord, it was going to be eaten anyway!"

"But then it would have gone honorably, allowing me to defeat your tasteless heap of flour and fruit! Now, it just sits there… butchered," whispered Vader as kneeled by the remains of the chocolate cake.

Voldemort pouted. "Why must you assume that my fruitcake would have stood no chance?"

"Please."

"Well, go on and build a little pyre for your cake, or bury it, or whatever it is you wish to do, but then get on with making another one! We must settle our dispute once and for all!" He turned to Jar Jar who was attempting to edge as far away from the sobbing Sith Lord as possible. "Now I have no quarrel with you," he began, but the Gungan, in his haste to put some distance between himself and Vader ran straight into an overloaded shelf, bumping dozens of pots and pans off the wooden panel, one of which landed right onto an unfortunate Dark Lord's unprotected cranium.

"OWWWWW!" screamed Voldemort as he clutched his head and howled before composing himself enough to inspect the damage in the reflection of the offending pan. When he saw the dark bruise that began to crawl over his forehead he snapped his attention back to Jar Jar. "You've ruined my flawless complexion," he said softly.

"You have a mole," reminded a distant electronic voice.

"How dare you!" roared Voldemort as he made to snatch the Gungan and throttle him. However, wisely judging that his presence was no longer desired, Jar Jar fled as the Dark Lord attempted to find his way out of the sea of pots now surrounding him. After a few moments of futile thrashing, the Dark Lord suddenly gaped as the pans rose into the air and out of his way. He turned to Vader, who was setting the pans toward the edge of the kitchen before turning to the wizard.

"That Gungan is toast."

"Indeed."

A/N: So I debated putting JarJar in this, because I realllllly don't like him, but figured hey, the only thing better than not having Jar Jar around is having two villains trying to destroy him :D

Please feel free to leave a comment! Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**I'll probably be wrapping this up soon, but I appreciate all who have read and who have commented! Thanks: D**

"Vader! Move. Your. Fat. Hips. Over."

"I told you, it's the metal!" Vader wiggled into the driver's seat of the speeder, which did seem to fit a bit more snugly than before. Hmm. Perhaps it was time to lay off those Dark Side cookies after all. "If it bothers you so much just move to the back seat."

Voldemort balked at the suggestion. "I am the most powerful wizard of my age, responsible for an entire era of terror, and _you_ expect me to sit in the back like a common muggle? Well, I'll not stand for it! I am a dignified, feared, and eminen-" Voldemort paused his tirade in order to clear his mouth of an audacious insect that had flown into his dignified, feared, and eminent throat. Recovering his composure and swallowing capacity, the Dark Wizard glanced at his counterpart, who was throwing a meaningful glance at him. "I," declared Voldemort stiffly. "Have decided to sit in the back. NOT because you told me to do so, but because I need the leg room."

Vader snorted. "Of course," he said, "Because those chicken legs need room" he muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," said the Sith Lord quickly as he started the engine. "Now, I suggest we head to the spaceport. The Gungan is stupid, but he should know well enough to get his sorry hide off of this dust ball."

"Agreed," said Voldemort as he settled into the back seat, stretching his legs. "The sooner the better. I am itching to close this chapter so we can continue our true fight."

Vader gagged as he glanced back at the comfortably seated wizard. "Yes, and while we close this chapter, would you mind terribly closing your legs and robes? I'm catching sight of a whole lot more than your mole."

"No. The wind is good for my complexion."

Rolling his eyes, Vader turned his attention to the road as he headed to the Mos Eisely spaceport. The drive was long, the sand aggravating, and the company borderline tortuous. To alleviate some of the boredom, the two Dark Lords made a variety of attempts to pass the time.

"I spy with my evil eyes something…gritty."

"Sand?"

"Yes. Your turn."

"I spy with my evil eyes something…course."

"Sand?"

"How did you guess?"

"All right, my turn. I spy with my evil eyes something…brown."

"…Sand?"

"No, your mole."

After the ensuing fight, the remainder of the trip was made in disgruntled silence, with Voldemort nursing a black eye and Vader poking at a stab wound made by a particularly sharp crochet needle.

However, as the bustle and disorder of the spaceport came into the view, the two lords began to tense with excitement. Pulling up beside a cantina, Vader jumped out of the speeder with Voldemort following closely behind. "We will gather information in here," announced the Sith, "A bumbling dolt like that would have likely caused a bit of commotion."

"All right then."

The two Dark Lords swaggered into the cantina, ready to interrogate its occupants, when a loud voice from the counter stopped them. "Oi! You! Get out! We don't serve yer kind here."

The wizard nudged Vader. "I think he's talking to you," whispered Voldemort.

Vader bristled. "But why? Is it because I'm black? Honestly, in this day and age how could anyone be stupid enough to judge by-"

"Oi! I'm not gonna repeat myself! We don't serve yer kind here! Yeah, you, the one with the helmet! There's no droids allowed in here."

"Oh, just wait outside, Vader, I can handle this," said Voldemort pushing the indignant Sith Lord toward the door. "If they said you're not allowed, then you are not allowed. Yes, we could use brute force, which is usually the best answer, but let's save it for the Gungan shall we?" Turning back to the counter, Voldemort began to address the cantina's owner. "Now see here, we need information on a Gungan that passed through—"

"Yeah you too Baldy. Didntcha see the sign? No shirt, no _nose_, no service. Now scram."

Voldemort's eye twitched. "What?"

Vader patted his shoulder. "Well, if they said you're not allowed, then you are not allowed," he said innocently.

"He-nose-can't-"

As the flustered wizard continued to sputter, Vader turned back towards the bartender and pointed his tips at the fat man's throat, choking him slightly with the Force. "As for you, you scum, if you value your life you will tell me where the bumbling Gungan went. And you shall apologize to Lord Voldemort. Of course, his nose-less face is ridiculous, but only _I_ have earned the right to mock it!"

Face reddening, the struggling man nodded feverishly and gasped loudly as Vader dropped him onto the floor. "The-the Gungan went down the street that way," stammered the man, "Towards the docks. An-an-and I offer my deepest apologies, milord. Your face, is, er, magnificent."

Voldemort sniffed. "And my complexion?"

The man stared. "Er, complexion?" he asked, looking at the Sith Lord, who shrugged. "Oh, er, yes, flawless. Your complexion, that is."

Vader started toward the door. "He actually has a mole," he whispered to an old women crocheting in the corner, who giggled softly.

Rolling his eyes, Voldemort followed Vader out the door and climbed into the speeder's backseat again as Vader backed the vehicle away from the cantina.

"Eh, Vader?"

"Hm?"

"Did you mean what you said back there?"

"About your nose-less face being ridiculous? Yes, quite."

"No, about—agghh never mind, you twit."

Vader just chuckled as he made his way to the docks.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please feel free to leave a comment or suggestion.


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